Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (13 page)

I guessed so.

I didn’t love his answer, but it was the truth. There was no way to ever know for sure, just like we didn’t know when our lives would end, and I didn’t know if Yo-Yo Ma would ever grace me with his exalted presence, despite my years of hoping and praying.

We headed east on I-90 across the northern edge of Mercer Island then south along 405. Liam held my hand the whole time, and I was surprised by how comfortable I felt being with him. Hours had gone by, and I hadn’t even checked my phone. Hadn’t seen him check his either. I thought maybe people would be worried about us, though I texted Rosemary earlier that I’d be back tonight.

“Where are we going?” Call me crazy, but it felt like we were leaving the city.

“You’ll see.” He smiled.

My brain told me I should feel apprehensive, but my heart told me to shut up and enjoy this gift of attention, free tour, and amazing, rain-free day with a guy who actually treated me nicely, for once.

We exited the highway at a town called Renton and drove through some residential and commercial areas. Nothing that appeared sight-seeing-worthy, even when we pulled into a parking lot outside some iron gates. “If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I’d say we’re at a cemetery.”

Liam held up a finger. “Not just any cemetery.”

“Fear is bubbling within me.”

“Don’t let it.” He opened the door for me and took me by the hand. This was starting to feel as if we always did this, as if I’d always known him, and at no moment, other than when the fans came running, did I ever feel like I was in the presence of the same man who led an arena of thirty thousand people in rock ’n’ roll prayer the night before. I felt like I was in the presence of a friend.

Entering the gates, I realized we were probably at the gravesite of his grandparents, but as we strolled closer to a memorial with a curved roof and steps leading to a center hub surrounded by columns, I knew it couldn’t be. I spotted the glossy, black-lacquered surface of a plaque. On it, the image of rock legend Jimi Hendrix embracing his guitar as words written in what was probably his handwriting floated all around.

“Oh, wow,” escaped my lips. I wrapped my other hand around Liam’s.

“Yep,” Liam mumbled, staring at the square center stone displaying the legendary guitarist’s name and dates of his birth and death. “The very one.”

“I had no idea this was here.”

“Most people don’t. I only know because my grandparents’ house isn’t too far from here, so when we visited, my grandfather sometimes brought me here. He was a big fan of Jimi’s. He made me a fan, too. Are you?” He side-glanced at me.

“I’m going to be honest and say that, though rock has never been my thing, I’ve heard his music, and the man was an artist with his instrument. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

He nodded, seemed satisfied with that answer, pulling me into one of those big, sudden Liam bear hugs that scooped me up and squashed me against his delicious-smelling body. My skin prickled from the contact, and I immediately felt guilty for feeling that way on such hallowed ground.

“I’ll have to play my favorite song of his for you sometime. It’s called
Little Wing
. Was the first time Jimi recorded using a Leslie speaker, which created those wave-like echo sounds he was so famous for. I love it.” Liam released his hold on me, except for my arm, and reached out to touch the center stone.

“Well, you’re making me a fan,” I said, loving the way he talked about Jimi and the speaker. Like a man who knew his craft. I could listen to him explain more if he wanted. “Not only of him, but of rock in general.”

He smiled at that, happy to have an effect on me of some kind. We stayed there for a while, reading the inscriptions, perusing the lyrics and background information on Jimi, until the sky overhead became overcast with dark clouds, and a swift wind blew through the cemetery, giving me an awful chill.

“We should go before it gets worse,” Liam said, leading me down the path away from Jimi. I looked back one last time at the rock legend’s final resting place, thinking how wonderful it must have been to have reached such a wide audience, to have been so deeply appreciated for what he loved to do most. There was nothing better.

We jumped into the Porsche just in time to close it up before big raindrops began coming down. This was, by far, a harder rain than during last night’s show. Liam drove out of the cemetery, blasting the wipers at high speed, leaning forward on the steering wheel to peer out the windshield.

“We should wait this out somewhere,” he said.

“Where?”

“I would tell you, but you would only think bad of me.”

“Why would I?”

“My grandparents’ house. It’s only ten minutes from here in Newcastle.”

Oh
. “Does anyone live there now?”

“No, been empty for a while now. Most of their stuff is in storage, but my parents kept the house, hoping I would want to remodel it and maybe move in one day. It’s this great house, just sitting there empty.”

If I told him it was okay to go, he might think I was open to having sex with him (which, let’s face it, I was), and if I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea, he might consider me Prude of the Year and forget talking to me anymore. Rosemary would want to know how I felt, what I wanted, and would tell me to ignore what Liam or anyone else thought. The truth was, I would’ve loved to go to the house with him and just see what happened. For all I knew, the rain might let up soon, and we’d be there a whole of five minutes.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“You sure? You’re not going to think the worst of me?”

“I won’t, Liam. I promise.”

“Damn. Need to try harder then.” He chuckled to himself, tearing out of first gear, second, third, and on up, back on the road to Newcastle.

*

When he’d said his grandparents’ house, I’d pictured a quaint little cottage with flowerbeds outside, maybe a big oak tree, and a cute little mailbox. I never expected to see this six-bedroom multilevel home on a lake with a dock and a boat shed to go with it.

“My granddad was big into boating,” Liam explained, as though he could hear my thoughts.

He pulled into the gravel driveway and waited for the rain to slow, but it only pounded harder. Liam cut the engine, and the Porsche went from lion to lamb in point-two seconds. As I thought about the possibilities that awaited us—whether we’d get hot in here, whether I was ready for more than a kiss, whether I would be able to satisfy a rock-slash-sex god who was used to being “serviced” by countless women, Liam turned to me, scooped my face into his hot hands, and waited.

My breath hung suspended between us. I knew he was waiting for me to make a move again, that he wanted my permission, wanted the impulse to come from my side. Did I want this?

I did.

Every inch of me cried out for it, but I had to keep an eye on myself and make sure I didn’t go overboard or let only my emotions rule me.

I reached up, and his warm lips pressed against mine. He opened his mouth, his tongue lining my lips, impatiently pushing farther in, sending me into a reeling tizzy. It was warm and chilly in the car all at once, and I knew, from the surge of hot wetness that flooded my panties, that I was, as Liam would say,
motherfucking doomed
.

We kissed for a long time, fogging up the windows, feeling each other’s shoulders, arms, his hands grazing my breasts. I did nothing to stop him. Whether or not Liam Collier would hurt poor little Abby Chan in the future, I already knew I wanted to explore his talents.

I would take the consequences when they came. I was prepared.

When the rain died to a light drizzle, Liam suggested we make a run for it, so I abandoned all caution, grabbed the cello case, and, on the count of three, opened the door and followed him around the side of the house. Standing before the garage, Liam shook rain off his head and flipped open a panel next to the garage door. He punched in a series of numbers, and suddenly, the garage door sprang to life, rolling backward with a heavy groan, as though Liam had awakened a sleeping beast. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the significance.

The two-story house was almost clear of furniture or any decoration. Liam showed me the rooms where his grandmother sewed costumes for him and his brothers, where his grandfather took apart computers then put them back together, where their dog, Jax, watched the birds outside eat his dog food, and the room where he and his brothers slept whenever they visited. Now, they were just hollow rooms.

The stairs were wooden and spiraled slightly, cherry, same as the floors, and the handrail was some other type of wood I couldn’t think of right now, because the truth was, I couldn’t think straight.

He’s leading you to a bedroom. Will you give it up, Abby?

At the first room, Liam gently took the cello case from my hand and set it in the middle of the room next to a single chair. Outside the window, sunset was going on somewhere behind the gray curtain of clouds. Soon, it’d be dark in the house, and as far as I could see, there weren’t any lights. My heart pounded inside my throat.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Pretend this is your audition,” he said, pulling up a chair for me. “Play your song for me. Play
Serenade
.”

My tummy fluttered because he so easily remembered the title of my musical composition. He’d been paying attention. It had taken three or four times before my own mother could remember what it was called. “You want me to play for you?” I clarified. “Now?”

“Yes. Come on, Miss Chan, serenade me with
Serenade
.” He smiled, pulled another chair from the corner of the empty bedroom, and whirled it around, straddling it, resting his chin on the backrest. Then he pulled out his phone and held it up to me.

“Are you videoing me?” I asked. I remembered the picture he’d taken of me at the party and wanted to ask him if he’d kept it. If he’d looked at it. But I instinctively knew he had. That he probably thought of me as much as I thought of him.

“Just want to capture your audition, Miss Chan.” He smiled. “Now play.”

“As you wish,” I said, pulling out the cello, the bow, and the rosin. I took a seat in the chair, which wasn’t the perfect height for playing but would do fine. Positioning everything, I tried to hold down the butterflies going mad in my belly. Not because auditioning made me nervous, because it didn’t, but because of the way he watched me, like I was an exotic dancer on a pole for the first time, and he was the virgin-hungry billionaire. I played a quick D-major scale then closed my eyes to bring myself to center.

Listening to the sheets of rain pelting the windowpanes, I let myself be guided by the rhythm of the downpour, listening to the heavy creaks made by a house assaulted by all this humidity, and I used my nervous heart as a metronome.

“What brings you here today, Miss Chan?” Liam asked, employing an official, deeper tone.

“Principal Cello.”

“You want the position?” His voice was sultry, hot honey.

“More than anything,” I replied, moving apart my knees, positioning the cello perfectly in place and thinking for the first time how sexy the movement felt. I rested my bow flat against the G string, poised and ready.

“Show me.”

I launched into the opening notes, lively, allegro, reminiscent of Mozart and slowed it down right when things got intimate in the musical story. I always imagined a lover’s quarrel beginning the piece, and in this part, an adagio middle took over, sad and forlorn. It was haunting, everything I wanted in a good solo piece, one I would’ve enjoyed with some tea and brandy by the fireplace had someone else been playing it.

Halfway through the piece, Liam began humming along, familiar now with the refrains. He shuffled his chair closer to mine, then set it down again. Watching me intently, like bowing strings was the most amazing thing in the world, he hummed the rest of the song. I agreed there was nothing more amazing than breathing life into music, setting it free. I wondered if Jimi Hendrix ever felt that way, like he was only the channel for the music, like the music flowed through him the way electricity moved easily through water.

Even through shut lids, I felt Liam coming closer. It was the scent of his skin, the humidity filtering into the room from outside. I would’ve recognized that scent a mile away. His presence was dizzying, his humming satisfying, as he became part of the performance, part of the song. I gave it everything I had. If this had been the actual audition day, I would’ve gotten the part.

Near the end of the piece, his hands found my knees, resting softly so as not to startle me. Gently, he pushed them apart and leaned in close as I continued to play. When he realized I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, he gripped the neck of the instrument, cutting the piece off right at one of the sections I was having trouble with anyway, and set it aside.

“No more playing?” I whispered, opening my eyes.

My stomach rose into my chest. Every pore of my skin felt electric and alive. All he needed to do was touch me once more, and I’d be his. There was nothing I wanted more.

He nodded, taking the cello from my hands and gently laying it on its side. In one swift movement, he swiveled his chair back around, so that the backrest was no longer between us, moving his body into the space between my legs. Leaning in, he rested one hand on my thigh as he cupped my face with the other. My breath was sucked from my lungs. I wanted him more than anything right now. He knew it, moving in to steal a kiss. A sweet, delicious play of tongues and lips. A longing request.